Scar of Lycia
by Wysp
Summary: When Mark was found on the plains, he had no memories...Now, after the battle against Nergal, he sets out to discover his past, for good or ill...
1. Prologue: A Hint of Things to Come

Scar of Lycia 

Prologue: A Hint of Things to Come 

_Who am I...?_

_Why am I here...?_

_Why do I run...?_

_Who's blood...stains my hands...?_

_Whose body...is upon my sword...?_

His eyes opened quickly, reacting in shock to what he had just seen; shock, an expression not seen on his face in a long time. He sat up in bed, his trembling hand tracing the droplets of cold sweat that ran down his clammy face. The nightmares had returned again, their gore-filled scenes emerging from his subconscious like a not-quite-dead morph, determined to serve Nergal to the end.

_Why do these nightmares haunt me...almost nightly I run through the blood-encrusted halls of the ethereal...I cannot stand it much longer. I may go insane._ A wry grin etched itself on his face. _That would not be a fitting end for the guardian of the Dragon's Gate._

A beam of sunlight glided down from the stone windowsill and landed warmly in his lap. He pushed aside the spartan bedding and dressed himself in his accustomed clothes: A brown tunic and leggings, then a grass-green overcoat, and on top of that, a brown traveller's cloak. He consumed a small breakfast from the dwindling stores he had brought with him--most of the time he foraged and hunted for his food. finally, he packed his things. He would not be returning here for a while, so why let the animals have what he could use? As he finished packing his things away, his hand came to rest on a weathered book that could easily pass for a tome written before the Scouring. To be fair, it had seen more battles than pretty much every other book its age, and many of them with the fate of the world in the balance. Several blood spatters marked its pages, and not all of them were the owner's. Several of the pages were ever-so-slightly charred in a battle that had almost claimed the author's life, a battle that had been recorded in the very same book--and in that book alone.

This book contained the memoirs of one of the single most sought-out people on the continent of Lycia.

It contained records of battles that would be lost to history in a mere ten years.

It contained records of weapons so dire that, should their resting places be known, the whole earth would shake in the stampede to retrieve them, records of battles that would tear apart countries and destroy peace treaties, and destroy entires families, records of tactics that would put the greatest generals of the day and age to shame, their armies broken and routed and their banners in the dust.

What was this book, so deadly, so powerful? What was it that must be guarded so well?

Was it a tome of lore, recorded from the days before the Scouring, full of alchemy and magic?

No.

Was it a contemporary record of the Scouring, telling of the rise of humanity and the falls of dragons, the relations between the Eight Generals, and some of the author's personal secrets?

No.

Was it a document that related to the reader every secret treaty, every dark deal that the countries of Elibe had made?

No.

It was muc more simple than that:

It was a journal.

This journal was the only existing document that related the full and unabridged tale from the time Lyndis of Sacae had begun her journey southward to the final parting words between the Marquess Eliwood and the last traveller departing Castle Pherae. It was a tale of joy and sorrow, triumph and defeat, of weakness and power, a struggle of good against evil. It was a book of anitheses, and a book of complimenting tones. It was, some would say, the perfect narrative.

The calloused hand glided caringly over the weathered, dogeared tome he himself had written, recalling the battles is contained. Finally,the hand clasped the book and placed it into the leather pouch which had held it and protected it for years.

Despite the fact that he was a pirate, Jake was an amiable man, so long as you weren't on the recieving end of his battleax. He followed Captain Fargus of the Davros faithfully, and his beloved Captain had never steered him wrong yet. At the moment he was riding the rigging as he did battle with the billowing sails which carried the ship over the azure waters of the Lycian Gulf, and often beyond. Clinging easily with one hand to the rigging, his other hand reached out and untwisted the sailor's knot which he had tied earlier in the day, allowing the sails to fill with wind and carry swiftly. It would be the responsibility of another pirate, down on the deck, to catch the canvas before it was caught up by the winds, in which case Jake would have to cling to a rope and ride the sail down, bringing it to deck and allowing others to tie it down.

Someone called his name, signalling that they were ready. As he looked down, something off in the distance caught his attention.

The sail unfurled, and the men down on deck caught it and tied it down. He slid easily down a line of rigging and landed nimbly on the deck.

"Cap'n!" He called out. "There's something on the water, just a bit aft o' us!"

Fargus turned from scanning the horizon on the prow of the ship. "'Nother pirate?" Jake shook his head.

"Looks to be some manner o' dinghy, sir. There was someone in it, too."

The captain's face darkened. "See if ye can find out who it is. If ye can't, leave 'em afloat; we nearly got ourselves sunk last time we pulled a dinghy aside us witho'ot knowin who was in it."

"Aye, Cap'n." Jake affirmed the order, the pirate jargon coming easily to his tounge, as it always did. He signalled to the sentry in the crow's nest, telling him to get a fix on the dinghy. The watch nodded, and soon Jake could see his gaze directed toward the unidentified person in the boat. Soon he climbed down with his report.

"I dun' know him off the top o' my head, sir." He said, addressing Fargus. "But I reckon I seen him somewhere before."

"Lemme see." Said the captain gruffly. He recieved the spyglass from the watched, and fairly flew into the rigging in a mighty bound. For a man of his size and age, he moved incredibly swiftly, arriving in the corw's nest in a matter of moments. He vaulted over its side and opened the spyglass. Training it on the enigmatic dinghy, he inspected the person aboard. At first, there was nothing amiss...

But then the man turned his face to shoo a seagull away from his food supply. The familiar face held a certain place in Fargus' memory, one that only this man occupied; one that only he had the capabilities of occupying.

"Ahoy!" Fargus called down. "One-sixty-three to port, we've got a dinghy to pick up!"

"Aye, Cap'n!" The order was recieved from below with a shout.

The traveller swung himself over the side of the Davros, grinning ruefully.

"Thank you, Fargus. I've never quite been able to stomach the sea for an extended period of time." He said. Fargus roared in laughter as the dinghy was hauled onboard and tied down.

"Hahaha!" He crowed. "Well, you're welcome for a sail with us anytime; just light a fire on that Elimine-forsaken rock o' yourn and if we can see it, we'll pick ye up."

"Thank you again, Fargus my friend."

Fargus delivered the newcomer a harty pat on the back.

"There was quite a ruckus in Lycia when they found out you'd vanished. Ye see, your fame had kinda drifted around when ye was helping the Lady Lyn with her Caelin deal, and when news came up that ye was back in town, the Marquesses set up a veritable manhunt for ye; the reward is probably still out there. But don' ye worry; I ain't out for a reward this time. Friends and high adventure are anough for this pirate!"

The ex-fugitive laughed. "Am I really that good?" Suddenly he sobered down. "I need you to drop me off in Badon, Fargus. I have some unfinished business I must attend to."

Fargus nodded. "And we'll do what we can. A good sailor don't leave his friends in the lurch. Boys!" He called out. "We're makin for Badon with all speed!"


	2. Chapter One: Cogs of Fate

Chapter One: The Cogs of Fate 

The traveller from Valor stepped down from the Davros, his booted feet resonating against the salt-soaked wood. The weathered dock had seen many ships come and go, but the cargo this one had dropped off was quite impotant--more important than the men walking to and fro on the dockside gave him credit for.

He slowly waded through the town, his eyes flitting from one house to the next, his mind recalling the battles that had occurred here when he had been here last. There was, however, one certain building which he was searching for.

The tavern at the sign of the Wyvern's Nest was about as controlled as the name suggested. While the tavern was indeed controlled, that did not stop the less sober of its patrons from taking to their fists, whereupon they were kindly but very firmly shown out by Anna, the manager of the pub. She knew almost everything about everyone in Badon, and much more about those outside the rowdy port town. If anyone could direct him in the right direction, Anna could. As he entered, Anna spied him and glided easily over with the air of someone who had done this a hundred times before--more, probably.

"Hello sir, may I help you?"

The traveller nodded. "I'm looking for information." Anna pursed her lips.

"I'm going to need your name and a bit of coin, first."

"Very well." He said. "You can call me Mark. I have--"

"Did you say Mark?" She asked. He nodded. She guided his hand away from his money pouch. "You don't need to pay; I'm rather well informed about people like you, you know," She said, smiling, "And I'm beliving that everyone, everywhere owes you a favor. What do you need to know?" She guided him to a table where they would not be overheard and the two of them took a seat.

"What do you need to know?" She asked.

"I've been having strange dreams lately; it's all of blood and killing." He frowned. Anna grimaced.

"Egh." She commented. "Nasty. Well, if you're looking into the meaning of that kind of thing, I suggest you talk to them." She indicated a group of people, some of whom were laughing rowdily, nd others of whom were watching the goings-on with cold eyes. "They're mercenaries from Illia; I'm sure you could find out something from them."

Mark nodded. "Thank you, Anna." As she got up to leave, he spoke again. "Oh, and two mugs of beer; one for me, and one for a friend." She grinned mischeviously. "Got your target picked out already, Master Tactician? But of course. It's on the house."

While he waited for the drinks to arrive, Mark approached the veritable party that compromised the Illian mercenaries. He timed his seating to coincide perfectly with the round of drinks he had ordered. He sat down next to a rowdy fighter, the axe slung across his back, his well-muscled arms, and his hearty drinking marking his profession immediately. The man noticed him, but fortunately was too drunk to be suspicious of him.

"Here, have one." Mark offered the man, whose green eyes were already sullied with drink and would not need much more coaxing, one of the drinks he had ordered. "It's on me." The man delivered a giant grin.

"Thankee kindly, man!" He said. "What's your name?"

A vague smile drifted over Mark's face. "You can call me Mark."

"Well, Mark, I'm Oryon, the strongest fighter in Illia! And these--" He broke off to wave drunkenly toward the others, none of whom were paying annention to him, being engrossed in their other affairs, "Are the 16th Squad of Illia's pride!" Mark nodded.

"Who's the one over by the wall? The one watching us?" The brown-haired fighter glanced over at the bearer of the dark eyes which were following Mark.

"Bah. That's Aesyar. Don't mind him, he's supicious of everybody."

"I see." _But the way he watches me...he can tell I'm up to something. Well, considering the fact that my friend Oryon is is a drunk as a duck and my plan is moving right along, it's unlikely he's do any real harm._ "You're a band of mercenaries, you say?" Oryon nodded. He pointed to a man dressed in navy-and-silver paladin's armor.

"That's our commanding officer." He said. "His name's Dayrik." Mark nodded.

"Do you have a tactician in your group?" Oryon looked at him quizziclly. "A tactician? You mean one o' them's who sit someplace high up and run the battle?" Why'd we need one of them?" Mark frowned.

"Imagine being able to finish your assignments in less time, with better efficiency, with less injuries and casualties. How does that sound?"

Oryon's eyes lit up. "Tacticians can do that?"

Mark nodded. "Indeed. And I happen to be just such one. I'm interested in joining your little group for a while."

"That's daggone cool!" Oryon exclaimed. "Oi, Dayrik! This man, Mark 'ere, 'e sayz he wants to join the Sixteenth for a bit!"

The leader of the mercenaries turned and regarded Oryon and Mark. The tactician kept his expression calm as he felt the contemplating eyes pass over him, seeming to drill into his very core and extract his secrets from it. Finally the mercenary stood, bidding goodbye to the group he had been participating with up until then. He slowly approached the drunken fighter and the tactician.

_Act one complete. Now to convince the commander._

"You say you wish to join us?" Dayrik asked. Mark nodded. "What is your name?"

"You can call me Mark."

"What weapon are you skilled in?" The paladin asked.

"I can use a sword well enough." Said Mark. "But that is not where my strength lies. My strength is here." He tapped his head. "In planning."

"A tactician?" The battle-hardened knight observed. "You're a bit young to be a tactician." Mark laughed.

"Heh. Yeah, I've had that before." He said. Dayrik nodded.

"Not surprising. How much actual combat experience do you have?"

"Plenty. More than I would need for the average mission a mercenary takes on. What are your odds, usually?"

"It's usually one-on-one odds." Mark nodded.

"How does sixty-plus versus twelve sound?" Dayrik was taken aback.

"Which side were you on?"

"The twelve."

"Who won?"

"We did." Mark smiled a small, calculated smile. Dayrik's surprise knew no bounds. "Ca-can you give me proof?" Mark shrugged.

"Simple. If I recall, Ostia isn't extremely far from here; just go and ask Lord Hector about the time we fought at a place called the Shrine of Seals."

Dayrik was astonished. "Marquess Ostia?!" Mark nodded. _I've got him, hook, line, and sinker. Time to reel in my catch._

"So what do you say?" He held out his hand. Dayrik took and shook it.

"Welcome to the Sixteenth Squad." He said. "Also known as Illia's Hunters." Mark nodded.

"I thank you, sir."

"You'll be needing to know who's who around here." The captain said. Mark nodded. "You've met Oryon already. The black-haired man by the wall is Aesyar. He's Sacaean by birth but signed on with us as soon as he was old enough. The one over there is..." He let out a low groan. "Saaaaaaain!" He called out. The Green Lance, formerly of Caelin but now a freelancer, turned. "Yes, Captain?"

Mark let out a low chuckle. "You haven't changed a bit, Sain. Still watching the right moment for getting the girls." he observed.

Sain's complexion paled in shock. Mark waved.

"Miss me?" He asked mischeviously. Sain didn't say anything, but simply stood, mouth agape, and pointed.

"You two...know each other?" Asked Dayrik. Mark nodded.

"We served together under Eliwood as well as Lyn. We've gotten to know each other well." Ignoring the shocked Sain, Dayrik moved on. "The two over at the bar are John and Tanner. The two of them have probably downed more liquor than the whole of Illia put together, and somehow manage to hold it all." He chuckled. "Lastly, there are the two Pegasus riders, Fae and Melanie. We just call her 'Mel' for short." Mark nodded. "Meet outside in two hours." Said the captain. "We're heading out then. We have a contract to fufil in Araphen, something about a bandit raid. You can prove your skills then." Mark nodded.

"I'll be there.

Two Hours Later 

Mark leaned against the weathered doorframe of the Wyvern's Nest, listening to the wodden sign creaking above him. Most people had retired for the night, and he was waiting on the Sixteenth.

He was not alone, unfortunately. Aesyar was watching him from a nearby wall, upon which he was leaning.

Finally, the others emerged one by one. When everyone had assembled and all horses and Pegasai were in order, Dayrik introduced Mark.

"This is Mark, our new tactician. It seems that he's been through more rough spots than you can count, and Sain, who's worked with him before, has attested to that. He'll be coming with us for a little while."

Aesyar spoke quietly and calmly.

"Who says he is who he says he is?"

Sain stepped forward vehemently.

"I do! And if you should throw suspicion upon Master Mark again, I'll personally--" He was interrupted by Mark.

"Enough, Sain. Let me ask you this." He said, turning to Aesyar. "What would I gain from betraying you? You are merenaries: I think that I would be able to do better by hiring you for a doomed job than by joining you, should I want to eliminate you."He turned to Dayrik. "What's our mission?" The mercenary captain glanced down at the paper in his hands.

"There've been some bandit raids around the area of Kathelet lately; we're supposed to wipe 'em out." He said heatedly. "We should be there in about two days' time, if we march quickly. Three, at worst." Everyone nodded.

"Let's go!" Dayrik called. Everyone mounted and they began moving toward the gates of Badon.

It was not long before they were held up travelling through Laus territory. After the uproars caused by Eliwood's rout of Laus forces, bandits swarmed in by the dozens. A deputy was delegated to mantain peace in the province, but due to sheer inexperience, was unable to root out most of the bandit holds. Subsequently, bandits attacked with surprising frequency on the roads.

About twenty bandits surrounded the mercenary group, who faced outwards.

Sain could not resist: He held a position between thetwo Pegasus Knights.

"Fear not, for your guardian Sain will rescue you!" He cried gallantly. He brandished his spear with a flourish. Mel blushed, but Fae frowned at him.

"We don't need any help!" She retorted. We can take care of ourselves!"

Mark interjected wryly. "Then look behind you." Fae whirled quickly, spotting the bandit attacking her. She thrust quickly, impaling her attacker on the point of her lance. Shaking the body off, she leapt onto her Pegasus, and Mel followed suit. Oryon smacked his calloused hand against the flat of his axeblade.

"Just give us our orders, Mark!" He called. "Depend on us!" Mark nodded.

"Sword and axe users make a circle, back-to-back." He ordered. "Pegasai knights, attack from the air. Target archers first. Get close up so that they can't shoot you. Go!"

The Pegasai knights nodded and shot into the air, while Dayrik, Oryon, John, and Tanner formed a circle. Aesyar glanced at Mark before training his gaze upon the enemy.

"What do I do?" He asked. Mark looked him up and down.

"You're a mage?" Aesyar nodded. Mark acknowledged it with an order.

"You stand here, with me. Support the others with your spells."

Aesyar nodded and opened his Fire tome. Selecting a target, he began muttering a spell. A few moments layer, a fireball rocketed from his hand to strike the foe. Mark watched as the enemy rabble broke and fell away. With their archers disabled, they could not defeat the Pegasai harrying them from above, and four swordsmen plus a mage was nigh-impossible for an undisciplined rabble like them.

Oryon, John, and Tanner high-fived each other, while Mel and Fae did the same upon their steeds in the air.

Dayrik and Aesyar turned to Mark. The former thanked him, but the second knelt before him.

"I'm sorry I suspected you." Aesyar said. "Your plan was swift and efficient."

"Thank you, Aesyar." Mark acknowledged him. "Let's keep moving."

The mercenary group stashed their weapons and continued down the path

Araphen. This small province in the Lycian League would make two marks in history--first, when its Marquess refused Lyndis of Caelin aid in reclaiming her throne, and later when it would be the bulwark against the attack from Bern. However, this second event had not ocurred yet, and would not appear for a long time. Meanwhile, it was plagued by Taliver bandits, who had migrated into the mountains near Araphen. These fierce brigands had resited and repelled every attempt by the local milita to eject them from the province. Finally, the current Marquess had requested the Sixteenth Squadron to come and eradicate them.

The mercenaries began their hunt as soon as they arrived in Araphen. The swordsmen deployed in a fan formation, with Aesyar and Mark following near Dayrik. The Pegasai Knights flew overhead, prepared to come down and scatter any ambushes they might spy.

It was not long until they engaged. A small group of foragers made the mistake of falling within Fae's line of sight. She let out a piercing whistle, akin to a falcon on the hunt. Tanner, who was directly below her, heard it and grinned wolfishly. The falcon's cry was followed by four whistles, like songbirds startled from their nests. That signified four enemies.

Tanner crept quietly up behind a tree, observing the four Taliver. They were off guard, not expecting hostiles to be moving inside their territory.

A while blur shot down from the sky, impaling one of the Taliver. Tanner's sword emerged from its sheath like a snake shedding its skin, darting out and delivering a fatal blow to another brigand.

The two survivors of the initial attack did not even have time to register shock. Sunlight gleamed off of two moving wepons, and the carcasses fell to the ground as blood dripped down the blade of Tanner's sword, sullying its bright sheen. He knelt and wiped it off on the grass. Meanwhile, Fae trilled another bird-song, the designated signal for "all clear".

Another whistle pierced the tranquil sky. The two mercenaries' battle-tempered blood chilled as they heard it: The sound of a wounded hawk, siganlling Danger, Aid is Needed.

"Let me ride with you." came Tanner's harsh whisper. Fae nodded. Tanner mounted the Pegasus, and the two soared toward the origin of the sound.

Oryon was having a time of it. Mel had given the danger-call, but it would take a little time for any aid to come. Meanwhile, the two mercenaries would have to protect themselves from the raiding party they had discovered. Oryon gripped his axe.

"Illiaaaaaaaaa!"

The cry ripped into the crowd in tandem with Oryon, as his wild, berserker charge sent Taliver flying. He felt the bite of a blade at his back, and whirled quickly, removing the owner of his head as well as his weapon. He batted away a lancehead with his sword, delivering the bandit who carried it a fatal blow. Using one of his foes as a springboard, oron peat high int the air, flying stright over the heads of several bandits to cleave a bandit wearing knight's armor in two.

Mel was not faring quite so well. Several archers had accompanied the raiding band, and without Fae to back her up, Mel was not able to dive as low as she needed to take out the archers. She ducked and rose and swooped and swerved, avoiding the rain of arrows that she faced. She grasped a javelin from her saddle and aimed it. Unfortunately, her Pegasus was swerving repeatedly to avoid being struck by arrows. Finally, however, she managed to line up a shot, and sent the javelin speeding toward its target. It struck true, felling the archer in a single blow.

Suddenly a large group of raiders milling about the edge of the combat-filled clearing went flying. A black-robed mage and a swordsman stood at the edge of the clearing, a winning smile clear on John's face. A single, brown-robed figure was barely visible in the dimness of the trees behind them.

Bandits turned to see what had happened. When they identified the attackers, they rushed forward, hoping to swarm the two mercenaries by virtue of sheer numbers.

They consequently forgot about Oryon and Mel, who swiftly jogged their memory. While some turned to finish them off, others continued the mad rush toward the new attackers. The discrepancy in the bandit's movements hindered them from attacking, and the mercenaries took the liberty of cutting them down where they stood.

Although the plan was going off without a hitch, there was still one more part that needed to be completed. Dayrik appeared on the opposite edge of the clearing, cutting a swathe of foes down with every swing made by his sword.

A white bolt fell from the sky, impaling a brigand upon its deadly lancepoint. Tanner shot from the back of the Pegasus, wreaking havoc on the enemy. Mark allowed himself a satisfied smile.

Not so far away, a group of visiting nobles were hunting a boar. The clash of steel and iron alighted in their ears, and when they went to discover the source of the commotion, they became witness to the whole battle. For most of them, it was quite the sight of a group of mercenaries efficiently eliminating their targets.

For most of them.

Marquess Romond of Thria watched in cold analysis, effectively recalling each move as it was made, and its effect upon the Taliver. His eyes narrowed. Turning to one of his aides, he pointed to the mercenaries.

"When we get back to town, keep an eye on him."

The aide nodded, making a note of the order.

Mark nodded. "Well done, everyone. Time to move out. From now on, we'll be moving as a single group, although slightly spread out. Mel and Fey, you two stick low to the tops of the trees. Other than that, same formation. Let's move out."

The mercenary group moved slowly through the mountain forests, keeping an eye out for Taliver sentries who might give them away.

Suddenly a robin's trill flew through the air. It was Fey's signal that there was a guard ahead. Mark pointed silently to Aesyar, then signalled that he should move ahead and take out the sentry. The mage nodded and snuck forward. The wind breezed through the trees, telling Mark that Aesyar's wind magic had done its work. When the mage returned, he nodded and the squad moved forward.

They soon arrived at the Taliver stronghold, the designated target. After a quick flyover, they had the specifications of the base. It was an old, rundown fortress that the Taliver had converted into a base. Mark detailed the plan.

Fey and Mel carried Tanner and John up to the top of the wall, where they opened the gate to their allies. The group split into two symmetrical halves, moving in opposite directions. Every sentry they came upon was killed efficiently and soundlessly, and the groups were soon in position.

"Squad one, go." Mark ordered. His group moved into the archway that led into the keep, weapons at the ready. Dayrik counted off ten seconds, then led his group up the walls and onto the roof of the keep. The two groups moved quietly and stealthily through the keep. They met in the middle.

"Who did you find?" Asked Mark. Dayrik shook his head.

"No one. It's completely abandoned."

Mark almost swore. Forgetting silence, he exclaimed, "They've gone on a raid on Araphen! We can't waste any time! Back to the town! Go! Go! Go go go!" The group whirled and dashed down the stairs, going at top speed through the fallen stones of the fortress and the logs and trees of the forest. They arrived in Araphen to a scene of ruin. The sector nearest them had been put to the torch, and Taliver could be seen looting it.

"We don't know where they all are, so everyone move systematically through the town. Wipe out any and every bandit you find, no questions, no quarter. Go! We can't lose any time!"

The mercenary squad moved out in disciplined formation, erasing the bandits from the village like a hand wiping over sand on the beach. They quickly wiped out the bandits. Mark's eyes watched the bandits fall coldly; this was the band that had wiped out the Lorca Tribe and inflicted torments on countless villages. They finally were receiving their due.

The Next Day 

Mark sat in an inn's commons room, musing over a mug. Their contract over, they would head back to Badon, which was where they usually accepted contracts, unless they found a new contractor somewhere on the return journey.

His thoughts were interrupted by a man sitting down next to him. The man was dressed in a manner that, although it indicated that he was well-off, did not call him out from anyone else in the crowd. Mark glanced at him and went back to staring into his mug. The man broke the awkward silence.

"I saw your battle in the forest yesterday."

Mark looked up. "There were no surviving witnesses."

"Several lords witnessed your tactical skills, while we were hunting. However, I was the only one who payed attention to the tactics, rather than the swordsmanship displayed."

"Oh really?"

"Yes really. Where did you learn your tactics?" Mark frowned.

"I make them up on the fly. No one taught me." The lord frowned.

"You mean you are self-taught?"

"Yes."

"I see." The man stood up. "I am Marquess Thria. My castle will always be open to you and your friends." He dropped a note on the table as he left. Mark picked it up and inspected it.

No tactician is self-taught. Not even you. Not even the Mercenary General of Lycia was self-taught. It read.


End file.
